Glynna Kaye - Claiming The Single Mom's Heart

“This is the only place I think I could have lost it,” Sunshine said as Rio flipped on the light and they stepped into Grady’s office. “I used it to jot down notes when I was waiting in the lobby the other day, then distinctly remember putting it back into my jacket pocket. That’s the last time I saw it. At Hunter’s Hideaway. And since it wasn’t in your lost and found, hopefully it’s in here somewhere. It was a gift from my father, so it’s special.”

After having thoroughly combed her apartment, SUV, tote bag and jacket pockets that morning, it had taken mental backtracking to figure out the possible whereabouts of the pen. That maybe when she’d pulled out her phone here a few days ago, she’d accidentally dislodged the pen. It was a long shot, but if it had dropped to the thick, patterned area rug, she wouldn’t have heard it hit the floor. Engrossed in her coloring book, Tessa might not have noticed, either.

Rio adjusted the wooden louvered blinds to admit more natural light. “Let’s take a look.”

Ignoring a prick of disappointment that Grady’s sister chose not to return immediately to the front desk, Sunshine gave a longing look at the photographs on the wall, then embarked on the quest for her pen.

“I sat in this area with Tessa for a few minutes,” she explained, leaning over to check under the chairs and lamp-topped table, “then stood over there with Grady to look at the blueprints and his laptop screen.”

She wouldn’t mention wandering the perimeters of the room with a camera in her hand.

“If it’s here, we’ll find it.”

“Thanks, but I hate taking you away from your work.” Maybe you’d better get back to it. Hint. Hint.

“Maybe Grady found it.” Rio optimistically checked out the pencil cup on the desk, then shook her head and they resumed the search.

“Aah, here it is.” As tempting as it was to nudge the colorful pen farther under the edge of the rug with her toe, Sunshine reluctantly bent to retrieve it. So much for thinking God had rewarded her with an opportunity to explore. “Ta-da!”

“What’s going on?” Grady’s deep voice drew her attention as he crossed the threshold of his office, surprise at seeing her there evident in his eyes.

“Sunshine was looking for the pen she lost here the other day.” Rio cast her a bright smile. “Her dad had given it to her.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d lost something or I could have looked around for you.”

“No problem.”

When Rio disappeared into the hallway, Grady moved to his desk and placed his laptop case on the oak surface. “You’re close to your dad, are you?”

Clutching the pen in her hand, she moved to stand across the desk from him. “Not exactly.”

A puzzled look shadowed his eyes.

“I don’t mean to sound mysterious,” she amended. “It’s just that, well, I never saw a lot of him. He wasn’t around much—he never got around to marrying my mom.”

Grady’s expression filled with sympathy. “Rough.”

“But I’m over it.” She slipped the pen into her purse, careful to push it securely to the bottom. “So I guess it’s corny to get overly sentimental about a high school graduation gift.”

“Not corny at all. I’m glad you found it.”

His reassuring words comforted. Made her feel less silly for clinging to the pen for all these years. “Like I said, it isn’t that he’s an intentionally bad father or anything like that. He has a busy career, and has always traveled frequently.”

“What did he do for a living that took him away so often?”

She trailed her fingers along the edge of the desk, remembering as a child how excited she’d be when he put in an appearance—and how disappointed when he left without a goodbye. “He’s an artist. Jewelry maker. His work is featured in shops and galleries throughout the Southwest.”

“Wow. So that’s where you got your talent.”

“And from my mother. And her mother and her mother’s mother before that. I’ve heard stories that my great-great-grandmother had strong creative leanings, as well.”

“That’s quite a lineage. You should be proud of that.”

“Oh, I am.” Why was she telling him this? Searching for a change in topic, she glanced at one of the wildlife photographs on the wall. “Who’s the photographer?”

He looked up from where he was booting up his laptop. “What’s that?”

“Who took these amazing wildlife shots? I noticed them the last time I was here. I’d love to get a print of this deer for my living room.”

“That can be arranged.”

“You know the artist? Whoever took these has an incredible eye for detail. A great understanding of composition.”

“I’ll pass on the compliment.”

“Is he local? Or she, I guess I should say. A focus on wildlife isn’t the sole domain of males.”

“He’s about as local as you can get.” Grady grinned sheepishly and suddenly she got it.

“You took these pictures?” She moved closer to the one of the fox. “They’re amazing. I didn’t know you were a professional photographer.”

He came around the desk to stand by her. “Define professional.”

“Talented. Gifted. And receiving payment for your work.”

“Then, I guess I don’t qualify.”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding. Why not?”

“Just a hobby.”

“You mean you’ve never tried to sell anything?”

He folded his arms. “Wildlife photographers are a dime a dozen—especially with the advent of digital cameras. Go online and type in wildlife photography and see the results you get. There are bunches of talented people out there.”

“And you’re one of them.”

He looked shyly pleased at her words, but she could only stare at him in surprise. “Has no one ever told you how accomplished you are? How sensitively you’ve captured the nuances of nature? It’s criminal that you’re not being paid to do this. I could—”

No, while she could easily prove her point that his work could garner sales, she wouldn’t offer to take his photos to the gallery. Not only would some of the other Co-op members—like Gideon—frown on that, but why should she, a struggling artist herself, smooth the rocky road for a Hunter?

Drawn to the charismatic outdoorsman with an artistic eye, how quickly she’d forgotten he was where he was today and she was where she was because his ancestor had cheated hers.

* * *

“Photography is a private thing for me.” Grady turned his full attention to the petite woman standing beside him, absorbing her evaluation of his work. He’d never talked to anyone outside the family about his photography. And seldom with family, although if he was going to get his plans off the ground to add a photographic element to the Hunter Ridge lineup, that would soon be changing. “Don’t you find that yourself? That in each of your creations you’ve poured a piece of yourself into it and find it hard to release it into the hands of others?”

He still didn’t understand how she could put that extraordinary watercolor of Tessa up for sale. To offer it to some stranger to hang on the wall of their home or office just because they forked over a credit card.

With a soft laugh, she cast him a wary look, no doubt recognizing where his thoughts were going. “A similar reluctance may have been the case for me years ago but now, with a child to support, the almighty dollar wins out every time. I definitely agree with you, though. Each creation carries the creator’s fingerprint, so to speak.”

He nodded. Although she’d pushed herself beyond the self-conscious unwillingness to expose her work to the criticism of others—the thing that held him back—she nevertheless understood his hesitance to go public.